Nobody can see me through my magic newspaper shield

My stress levels are shooting through the roof again.

Yawn. What else is new?

Nothing I want to talk about.

Which? Is yet another reason I'm really a man. Believe it or not, even though I've been a girl for decades, the phrase "I don't want to talk about it" comes to mind. When it all gets to be too much, I shut down. Just like a man. The person hiding behind the newspaper who only grunts when you try to start a conversation? That would be me.


Bring me a plate of bacon and eggs and some coffee or shut up.

So I'm at Mamarazzi today.

It drives me crazy.

I am posting from my messy, under construction, dusty, plastic-sheet draped, malodorous house. Why?

Because my big ass laptop has lost the internet.

My husband fiddled with it and told me the HP Wireless program wouldn't run, the nanowidget wouldn't interface with the watchamacallitron, and somehow, the driver appears to be missing.

Frankly, that conversation reminded me of the Gary Larson cartoon where he shows you what is being said to the dog, and then what the dog understands.

Yes, I did just call myself a dog. Because I feel like one. Or maybe I just feel like a mother.

My big ass laptop is only 14 months old. A toddler.

And laptops are like babies, you know. They're so cute! And portable! You carry them around with you. You want to sleep with them in your bed, but you worry that they'll fall off. You count their ages in months.

And then, they shit on you.